Victor And Vladimir
by SnowStormInSummer
Summary: Set in a parallel, almost identical universe just after the deaths of Frankenstein's relations. Elements of Greek Myths, Shakespeare and Vampyr Legion by Alan Gibbons. Dracula/Hecate, Dracula/OC, Ernest/OC, Ernest/Hecate, Frankenstein&Dracula friendship, Robert van Helsing&Adam (monster) friendship . Rated T for violent themes, all characters belong to their original creators.
1. Chapter 1

Baron

To The Right Honourable Lord Ernest Frankenstein, Geneva.

Dear Ernest,

It has now been over a year since I left you, and yet this is my first letter to you. I do hope you have not been worried. My apologies on missing your nineteenth birthday - it could not be helped. I have tracked the beast that tore apart our family all the way through Austria-Hungary. He is determined to evade me, but I know I shall soon catch him and avenge William, Henry and Elizabeth.

I am writing this from my latest lodgings. I shall tell you how I came to be here, for the story is quite fascinating.

It was very late, most likely the small hours of the morning. The mist was descending and I no longer felt safe outside. I was exhausted, and the darkness might allow the creature to approach me unseen. I returned to the road and walked on, hoping to find some peasant cottage to rest in.

Then, quite suddenly, I saw it rising through the mist. A huge castle, with gargoyles and spiked turrets.

It seemed to be the only building in sight, and therefore my only choice of lodgings. With some trepidation, I approached it and took hold of one of the large brass knockers, then let go.

The sound of it hitting the oak door reverberated through the night and made me shiver. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened creakily. I peered into the darkness within, and saw no-one, yet a voice spoke.

"Who are you? What is your intention here?"

"My name is Victor Frankenstein. I seek shelter from the cold."

There was silence for a few moments. Then a hooded, cloaked figure, whose face was impossible to discern, appeared holding a candle. A gloved hand beckoned, and I followed.

They led me to a chamber high in one of the turrets, with a double bed, a large wardrobe and a window seat. Then they left, leaving their candle burning on the bedside table. I found parchment, quills and ink in the draws of the bedside table, and so took these and the candle to the window seat to write this letter to you.

I will post it at the first opportunity I get. Be safe, brother, and tend to the graves of our parents, our brother and my wife.

Your loving brother,

Victor.


	2. Chapter 2

Warlock

Abraham looked at his son. Twenty years old, and already he had lost far too much. His mother, when he was only eleven, had been destroyed by that monster, the Count. His friends in the Resistance had been slowly turned into vampires by those who did Dracula's bidding. He could understand why Robert wanted to hunt for him, but that did not mean he was willing to let him go.

"Please, my son, you have to understand...I lost your mother, the Resistance I worked so hard to build is gone. You are the only thing I have left. If I lost you too it would break my heart."

Robert nodded solemnly, but the look in his eyes showed he had not changed his mind.

"I understand, father," he answered sadly, "but I must go. I am a van Helsing. It is my duty. My fate. Besides, you will not lose me. I will destroy the Count and return home to you."

Abraham embraced his son for what he was sure was the last time, and then handed him a book entitled

**Notes On The Destruction of V****ampires**

**By** **A. V. H.**

Robert tucked it into his sack and walked out of the door, barely looking back. He walked on until he was nearing the outskirts of the city.

Abraham, watching him with the Farsight that was gifted to all of his family, sighed and turned away from the door.

He froze. Facing him, with her yellow cat eyes and a wicked grin on her face, was the one he feared most of all, after Dracula.

The witch cackled and took hold of his neck, lifting him up. His hands scrabbled at the collar of his robe, but he was not trying to stop her from choking him. He pulled a long cord out over his neck. Hanging from it was a bulb of garlic, a silver crucifix and a crystal bottle of holy water. He waved the bottle in her direction and she hissed, letting go of his throat and backing away.

Abraham pulled the stopper out of the bottle and dipped his finger in, then splashed water droplets over her. She screamed and disappeared in a puff of pale purple smoke.

He put the cork back in his bottle and tucked the necklace into his robe again, glad that Robert had his own. The holy water repelled witches, and the crucifix frightened werewolves.

As for the garlic, that was for the vampires.


	3. Chapter 3

Mourner

To The Right Honourable Baron Victor Frankenstein, Transylvania.

Dear Victor,

I must own there is little that has happened of late to merit sending this letter, but knowing where you are has made me desperate to communicate with you. In truth I doubt you will ever get this letter, as it will arrive most likely weeks after you are gone.

All I wished to say was that Château Frankenstein is clean and well looked after, and your pursuit of the monster means we are left in peace. The servants are angry at his murder of our brother, our best friend and your wife, and his indirect murder of a faithful servant and our father.

Avenge them, Victor. Please. If you do not our family name will be forever blighted by this tragedy.

I do not want you to be remembered purely as the man who created a monster. You are so much more than that.

I believe in you Victor, because Mother believed in you and Father, William, Elizabeth, Henry and Justine believed in you too.

I trust that you will acquit yourself well in this matter and restore our honour.

Do not, I beg of you, trouble yourself over missing my birthday. It was a lonely day, but with luck there will be others, brighter and happier.

You mentioned before you left Geneva that you wished I would marry and bring joy back into the house again. I responded that I was too young, but I confess there is a certain young lady who I am beginning to admire greatly.

Her name is Helena Brunel, and she is very fair, Victor. Her hair is blonde and she is slender and tall, with dark blue eyes and a small, red mouth. She possesses many social graces and her father is a rich merchant in Geneva. I desire to be better acquainted with her.

If you do get this letter, brother, please write and tell me what you think of her.

Your loving brother,

Ernest.


	4. Chapter 4

Baron

The next morning, Victor Frankenstein was woken by a knock at his door. He had drifted off just after he finished his letter to Ernest. He still wore his dusty travelling clothes, so he went to his trunk and got out some fresh clothes and laid them on the floor, then went to the door.

"My master has instructed me to point out the bathroom to you," said the voice from last night, and when Victor opened the door, a middle-aged man in a smart suit stood there.

"Thank you. Might I ask where I am and who you are?"

"Certainly, sir. You are at Castel Dracula. I am Jean, the Count's butler."

"The Count?" Victor asked.

"Count Vladimir Dracula," Jean replied over his shoulder as he turned away, "if you follow me, sir, you will find the bathroom."

After Victor had washed himself and put on fresh clothes, Jean led him down countless staircases to a breakfast room.

It was large, with a gilded, slightly domed ceiling. The carpets were all crimson and the long table took up half the room. On it was a white satin table cloth and the centrepiece was a huge bronze candelabrum with six candles burning in it.

Sitting at the head of the table was a tall man with dark brown hair. He had finely chiselled features and an aquiline nose, and his eyes were big and dark. He looked up and smiled. Victor was surprised to see that his canine teeth were much longer and sharper that the others.

"Ah, Monsieur Frankenstein," he said, in accented French, "do sit down. What would you like to eat?"

Victor asked for some bread and cheese, then sat himself opposite the Count. They struck up an easy rapport, and while the Count drank what looked like a cup of steaming mulled wine, and Victor ate his breakfast, they spoke at length about their families and history.

"I have no real family," Dracula explained, "my father died when I was very young, and left me this old place. And extensive dental problems. Overly large teeth run in the family, you see."

"I am a Swiss Baron," Victor answered, "but my entire family save my brother have been murdered by a cruel beast."

As he told the story of Adam, Vladimir's expression became more and more unreadable. Eventually, anxious to change the subject, Frankenstein told him:

"You speak excellent French, Count."

"Oh, yes, well...I have no-one to talk to in this lonely house except Jean, and he is French, so he has taught me his tongue."

Victor nodded, and they carried on conversing. They got on so well that they did not notice the young man looking in through the window, and idly playing with a silver crucifix, a crystal bottle and a bulb of garlic hanging from his neck.


	5. Chapter 5

Monster

Adam was entering his ninth year of life, and was seeking out Frankenstein to destroy him. He had killed so many times to hurt him, but now he wanted to destroy the man himself. The only problem was he did not know where he was.

He had spent many months imagining countless inventive ways to brutally end Frankenstein's life. The conventional strangling method was attractive, but he also liked the more creative "rip out their eyes and then tear them into

pieces" method. In the end, it hardly mattered, provided the breath left the Baron's body. He knew he would enjoy slowly dismembering Victor, but it could also be argued that a quick death would be less messy.

But then, Adam had never had a problem with mess.

He wondered if perhaps he should head back to Geneva and kill the man's last remaining relative, the young man called Ernest. That would bring even more pain to Frankenstein, and the Baron in pain was always a desirable prospect.

He still remembered the beautiful people who had taught him to speak: Agatha, Felix, and their father De Lacey. They had taught him the French language, and for a while he had believed he might find solace and a home with them. But the only one who would accept him was the blind old man, De Lacey.

Agatha had screamed when she set eyes on his terrifying visage, and Felix had beat him and forced him to leave the house.

That was when Adam learnt that no-one who could see would ever love him or care about him.

Suddenly a twig snapped behind him. Adam stood and turned to face the bushes from which the sound had come. Out of them stepped a young man. He bowed low.

"Greetings, monster," he said. Adam watched him warily, but did not speak. The man held out his hand for him to shake, but he did not take it. Instead, he asked him his name.

"My name is Robert van Helsing," he replied, in Dutch-accented French, "and I can tell you where to find Frankenstein."


	6. Chapter 6

Baron

Weeks passed. Victor knew that his letter would have arrived in Geneva, and soon he got his brother's reply. He had intended to merely break his fast with the count, and then be on his way, but then he was persuaded by Dracula to stay.

"I wish I could offer you my assistance in this matter," he explained, "but I have no weapons or men at my disposal, and any further attempt to track down this creature without those may be fatal to you. Stay here in my home. It is well fortified and comfortable."

At first Frankenstein protested, saying that the monster must be brought to justice and destroyed, but then the Count told him he had no friends and never had guests. He begged Victor to stay just a few weeks so that he might not be so lonely. Victor was a compassionate man and so he agreed.

He and Vladimir became good friends, until eventually his host informed him that he had someone he wanted him to meet.

"It has always been my way," he told Victor, as they walked down towards the cellars of his castle, "to be completely honest about myself with anyone I intend to be on good terms with. I have two things I need to tell you, and this is the first."

They arrived at the cavernous cellars of Castel Dracula, and then Vladimir led Victor to a large portable cupboard, sitting in one corner gathering dust. With little difficulty, the Count removed it and revealed a small door. He pushed it open.

They walked through the cold, echoey passage, the only light the wooden torches burning in their wall brackets. Eventually they came to a space where the flagstoned corridor stopped and fed into a natural underground cave system. Vladimir took the nearest torch from its sconce and strode purposefully forward, his torch shedding a small circle of light in the otherwise dark tunnel.

Eventually the path they were following led to a spit of rock suspended in an enormous natural room. The floor of the cave was so far below that it was invisible, and the ceiling was equally distant and the only thing to be seen above was darkness.

Dracula waved his flame and whispered something that was too quiet for Frankenstein to hear. After that there was almost silence for some time, And the only things Victor could hear were the crackling of the torch and his own breathing, and that he almost felt rather than heard.

Eventually, by the eerie, flickering light of the torch, Victor saw a hand grasp the edge of the ledge on which they stood. He knew that the drop below was huge and doubted there was any way up from the bottom.

A cold feeling sat in the pit of his stomach as the hand was joined by its twin, then a face appeared and a body was hauled onto the rock. It was a young woman, with slightly messy blonde curls, dressed in a simple dress of a grey-purple colour.

She ignored Victor completely and went straight to the Count, then she kissed him on the cheek and draped an arm around his shoulder. It was then that, to his horror, Victor saw that she had eyes like a cat's - no whites, huge yellow irises and black slit pupils.

"This is Hecate," said Vladimir, looking uncomfortable, "my mistress."


	7. Chapter 7

Mourner

Ernest Frankenstein was very happy. He was happy because he was alone with a very beautiful young woman, and she was flirting with him. The only reason they were alone was because her father was currently in the lavatories and the other guest, a cousin of his named Percival Beaufort, had fallen asleep on the sofa. It would hardly have been proper for him to invite her alone to his Château, but he had been hoping for a moment like this all evening. He, Helena (for she was indeed the young woman in question) and her father had been playing whist for most of the evening.

Now, their cards lay forgotten on the table and they were whispering quietly, holding hands.

"I must confess I have had...feelings for you for some time," she told him shyly, her cheeks going pink.

Ernest smiled and leaned towards her, and she moved her face towards his. He could barely believe it - surely she was not about to kiss him? A huge grin spread across his face.

They were an inch from kissing, maybe less, when they heard footsteps. Monsieur Brunel was returning. Helena blushed again and giggled, leaning back. Ernest smiled too, even though he was irritated that he would not get to kiss her.

A few moments later Monsieur Brunel entered the room.

"What?" exclaimed Percival, starting up. Ernest laughed.

"Come cousin," he said, "join me in the garden. Monsieur and Mademoiselle Brunel are of course also welcome."

Helena dimpled prettily and took his arm. They headed out to the garden and Monsieur Beaufort followed behind, talking with her father.

A full moon rose, bright and shining above the trees, bathing the walkers in its pearly light.

"Forgive me, cousin," gasped Percival, sounding uncomfortable, "I must return to the Château. It would be unwise for me to remain here."

Ernest laughed, and told his cousin not to be foolish.

"Please," Percival explained, "my company may endanger you if I stay outside any longer."

"What on earth do you mean, Monsieur Beaufort?" exclaimed Helena.

Percival did not reply. He dropped onto all fours instead.

"What is the meaning of this?" exclaimed Monsieur Brunel, "is your cousin mad, sir?"

Ernest did not reply. He was staring at the transformation his cousin was undergoing. His face was becoming longer and more lupine, and his teeth were yellowing and growing sharper. Fur was sprouting along his body, and his hands and feet were becoming more and more like paws. His clothes were ripping off as his muscles bulged and moved. He snarled, and the onlookers saw that there was no longer a man standing in front of them. He had become a wolf.

The wolf stood there growling, gazing balefully at Ernest and the Brunels. Suddenly, he leapt at them.

Ernest reacted instinctively, pushing Helena to the ground and shielding her body with his. He heard yells and snarls, and realised too late that Helena was not the intended target. He leapt to his feet, but could see that there was nothing left to be done for the girl's father. Helena scrambled up, then let out a bloodcurdling scream at the sight of her father being torn apart. She tried to run to him, but Ernest held her back, knowing that attacking the wolf would only provoke it and cause it to kill her too. Eventually, the creature that had been his cousin stopped disembowelling Monsieur Brunel, howled at the moon and ran away towards Lake Geneva.

Helena ran weeping to her father, and Ernest followed her slowly. There was no hope for the man and Helena turned to him, weeping. He put his arms around her and she sobbed into his shoulder. That was when Ernest decided to leave that place, and take her with him.


	8. Chapter 8

Monster

Adam accompanied Robert back to his inn, shrouded in a cloak. The night hid him and he had no fear of discovery. Once they got up to the small room that Robert was renting, he explained that he, too, had an enemy.

"His name is Dracula, and he drinks blood. He has taken in your enemy as a guest and they have become friends. I heard them talking of you, and decided that if I could find you, I would make this offer: I help you kill Frankenstein, and in return you help me kill Dracula."

Adam thought it over. Two minds and two sets of hands were always better than one, but he barely knew this man, and he could have been sent from Frankenstein to kill him.

"Prove I can trust you," he said.

At that, Robert picked up a letter opener and pierced the skin on his thumb. A bead of blood welled up.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Adam."

"Well, Adam, I declare your blood my own. Henceforth we are brothers."

He handed the knife to Adam, who pricked his own thumb.

"Robert, I declare your blood my own. Henceforth we are brothers." Then they pressed their thumbs together and let their blood mingle for a while.

"You should know there are complications," Robert said, "if either of us is bitten by my enemy, both will become his slaves."

"That is of no concern," Adam told him, "for neither of us will. Tell me, how well fortified is the castle of your enemy, and how vicious is he?"

"It is practically impregnable, and he is said to be the brother of the devil."

Adam pursed his lips.

"In that case, a full scale assault will be needed to defeat my nemesis - and yours."

"I believe you are right." Robert replied.

"We need an army," Adam announced. Robert smiled.

"I will write to my father, for if anyone knows how to find an army willing and able to attack a vampire, it is him."

"Excellent!" cried Adam, "and while your letter is being dispatched, I will inform you of all the weaknesses in Frankenstein that I know, and we must read this book."

As he said those last words he picked up **Notes On The Destruction Of Vampires** from where it lay on the bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Baron

Victor was astonished at his friend's brazen immorality. To keep a woman in his house, and not to marry her!

Hecate scowled at him.

"Who is this, my dearest?" she asked, stroking the Count's cheek.

"This is Victor," he replied, "a guest, and my friend. He has managed to create life in what is dead, but now his creature hates him and wishes to kill him. I have promised him our full support."

Hecate's frown deepened, and she narrowed her terrifying eyes at Victor.

"How much does he know?" she asked her lover.

"Not all of it."

"Well then, you can tell him. But I am going home. You know I do not like sharing you with anyone."

Vladimir opened his mouth to speak, but Hecate did not stop to listen. She stepped off the ledge and vanished into the darkness of the chasm below.

Victor felt shock for a moment, but then, remembering her grand entrance before, decided it was unlikely any harm had come to her.

Then Dracula told him to sit down, and so he did, and listened in growing amazement - but never wavering in belief - as his new friend told him that he was a vampire, that his mistress was a witch, and that he was pursued by relentless enemies, a father and son by the name of van Helsing.

"I will stay and help you until these foes of yours are vanquished," he promised, but he looked timid and whispered:

"On that first day, when you drank, was it blood?"

A curt nod.

Victor was silent for a moment, then requested to be returned to the above-ground part of the building. Vladimir nodded, and led the way back through the caves, holding his torch aloft.


	10. Chapter 10

Mourner

That night, Helena slept in a guest room at Château Frankenstein and Ernest sent a messenger into the village to fetch the gravedigger. A full-sized coffin was ordered, and what was left of Monsieur Augustine Brunel was wrapped in linen bandages, and placed in the coffin. To stop them moving around, hay was packed tightly around them. Ernest then told the undertaker to have both the coffin and a grave in the church yard ready by the morning. After a fitful night's sleep, Ernest dressed in mourning garb and found a black dress in Elizabeth's old wardrobe that he thought might fit Helena. He sent a maid to take it to her room, then sat down and looked at the wall. He no longer felt safe in his own home.

A few moments later, Helena knocked on the door of his chamber, and they headed down to the church.

The priest conducted the ceremony, then the coffin was lowered into the ground on top of the coffin of Helena's late mother, Katherine, who had succumbed to influenza. Then the gravediggers piled soil on top, and Ernest pressed several coins into the undertaker's hand, along with a sheet of paper detailing the requirements for the headstone. Then he led a dry eyed but shaking Helena back towards his house.

"I think we should leave Geneva," he told her, "there are too many sad memories here. Let us go to my brother in Transylvania. He is the only family I have, and I wish him to meet you."

Helena was silent for a few moments, but then she nodded.

"This place haunts me," she whispered.

Later that day, he shook the hand of the aged housekeeper.

"Look after this place for me, Maria," he told her, then followed George, the footman, outside. He helped Helena up into the carriage, then checked that the footman had stowed the cases correctly. When he was assured they would not fall off in the middle of the journey, he climbed in beside Helena, and George closed the door.

As the carriage rolled up the drive and onto the main road, Helena reached out and took his hand, giving him a wan smile.

"Courage, Ernest," she whispered, and he squeezed her hand tightly.

Somehow, despite the fact that they had buried her father that morning, she was the one comforting him.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I am aware that I have taken a lot of liberties with the Dracula storyline. This is because I have not read Dracula. However please respect the fact that this is fanfiction and does not have to follow the books. Also, pick a side! Who are you rooting for, Victor and Vldimir or Adam and the van Helsings? Let me know by reviewing or sending me a private message.**

Warlock

Abraham van Helsing was afraid. He might have the Farsight, but even that had a limit, and he could no longer see his son.

What if he was dead? Or a vampire, the slave of Dracula? It had been a long time since he had received a letter from Robert, and he was beginning to fear for him. The last thing he had seen, he had been in a town in Transylvania, looking for an inn. Abraham hoped that he had simply found an inn beyond the boundaries of his father's vision.

Abraham was really regretting letting Robert go in the first place. They were safe here in Holland, and now that they had left Amsterdam no-one knew that they were warlocks.

Warlocks were people born with a single hereditary power. There were five ancient warlock families. The de Courcy family could hear everything in a thousand-mile radius of themselves. They lived in Marseille, France. The Hirsch family, of Dresden, were gifted with two abilities, which in the past had made the other warlock families very jealous. Not only could they smell things up to a thousand miles away, like the sight of the van Helsings and the hearing of the de Courcys, but they could also create a link between two members of their family, allowing each to smell everything the other was smelling. This massively increased the distance they could smell from.

The Banshikov family, from the depths of Siberia, had the ability to do a similar thing to the Hirsches, and feel (in a sensory, rather than emotional, way) whatever anyone else in their family felt. And finally, the Allocco family of Venice were able to taste what other members of their family tasted.

The de Courcys, the Hirsches, the Banshikovs and the Alloccos had all sworn a vow of peace, promising eternal friendship to everyone in the world. Only the van Helsings refused to make this vow, in case they were one day called once again to fight Dracula. The other warlock families called it a "petty feud", but Abraham knew better. He knew his family had to fight on until Dracula was destroyed.

Only one thing would make him stop fighting, and that was a direct order from all the other warlock families. He had been threatened with one before, but had always managed to argue his point well enough that he was permitted to continue his battle.

Several weeks passed, as Abraham brooded on the possible death of his son, and on the irritating passivity of the other warlocks. As a member of the High Warlock Council, he felt he should have been able to call on them to fight his cause.

Then, one day, a letter arrived from Robert. It explained that he had allied himself with the nemesis of a guest of Dracula, and that they requested his help in assembling an army to attack the Count's fortress. As soon as Abraham had read the letter, he began frenziedly packing his belongings, and that night, he set off on horseback for Transylvania.


	12. Chapter 12

Vampire

It was getting ridiculous. Victor had barely spoken to Vladimir for at least a week, but he showed no sign of leaving. He had cut up corpses and sewn the bits together to make a person, but now that Vladimir was a vampire and in love with a witch, he was shocked? Really?

Finally, Dracula approached his friend's quarters and knocked on the door.

Frankenstein's face, when he answered, was impassive, but his cheeks were flushed, his knuckles were white and his lower lip was bleeding. He was clearly very stressed.

"Come in," he said quietly. Vladimir entered and looked around him. the chamber was in complete disarray. Victor's possessions were half-packed into his trunk.

"Are you leaving?" Vladimir asked, then realised it was a stupid question - of course he was.

"I am sorry, really," Victor explained, "but I cannot stay. My dearest friend in the world was recently killed by Adam," here he wiped a tear from his eye, "and after he was gone I felt sure I would never be as close to anyone ever again. But then I came here, and you were so kind to me, and I could barely understand it, why would a rich Count care about me? And now - I see you did not. Do not lie, I know why I am here! You were planning to kill me, to drink my blood and then give my finger ends and my...my liver to your mistress, so she could boil them up and make some spell with them! I am not your guest, I am your prisoner! And now I expect you will leap on me and kill me, but I do not care any more. I just want you to know that I see through you! And I die a wise man, if not a good one."

That last sentence was whispered remorsefully, instead of being shouted in anger. Dracula realised that even as he spoke Victor had been throwing things into his trunk, and began to laugh at his strange predicament.

Insist that Victor stay, and he would be the imprisoning monster the Baron believed him to be. Allow him to go, and he would go, leaving Vladimir as lonely as he had been before.

"I am not keeping you prisoner, Victor. Go if you wish. I would prefer it if you stayed, but I am not your master."

Frankenstein sat down heavily on his bed, and put his head in his hands. Vladimir approached, and stood awkwardly facing him. Finally he coughed, and Victor looked up.

"I would never take your blood, I hope you know that," he began, "and I think you will grow to like Hecate. She can be incredibly kind when she is in the mood, and she is very clever. She speaks Greek, Romanian, Swiss French and Scots English. She understands people very well, and she would do anything for me. If I entreat her enough, I believe she will be kind to you."

After what seemed like an eternity, Frankenstein smiled.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, "I think I just needed time to think."

"I hope you have thought your fill, because if my nose is not misleading me, that interesting smell wafting up from the dining room is your luncheon. Jean has prepared you a plate of escargot."

Victor laughed and rose, and Vladimir headed down the stairs, a false smile fixed on his face.

He knew he could only make excuses for a few more weeks, before Victor refused to stay any longer. It had been almost a month, and soon he would grow restless and long to hunt for Adam again.

And then Dracula would be alone again, as he had been for so many years. True, he had Hecate, but one could not survive on only love. Friendship was as essential, if not more.

There was Jean, but it was hard to be on friendly terms with a butler.

And Vladimir did not think he could manage without friends, now that he knew what he was missing.

He needed to find a way to keep Victor in his house, without him realising he could not leave.


	13. Chapter 13

Orphan

Helena woke to sunlight streaming through the carriage window, and Ernest's gentle voice.

"My love, we have reached the place where my brother is staying."

Helena could hear he was right - the constant click of the horses' hooves and the rumble of the turning carriage wheels had lapsed into silence.

The coachman opened the door, and Helena took his arm and stepped down onto the road outside the Castle. She could see two men and and a woman waiting on the steps in front of the open doors of the building.

Ernest climbed out of the coach, and the driver began to unload their baggage, and then one of the men ran forward.

He embraced Ernest with a cry of:

"Brother!", and then stepped back and looked Ernest up and down appraisingly.

"You look well."

"I am. Victor, this is Helena, the young lady I mentioned..."

Victor smiled and turned to Helena. He bent and kissed her hand.

"Delighted to meet you, Madesmoiselle."

He led her and Ernest to the steps up to the door of the building. The woman, dressed in purple-grey with messy hair, gazed at her disinterestedly with eyes that terrified Helena.

Yellow, and with pupils that were no more than black slits. Her expression was almost bored, and she gave Helena only a passing glance.

Her gaze lingered a little longer on Ernest, but her face betrayed nothing.

Helena turned her eyes to the final member of the strange gathering.

"This is Count Vladimir Dracula, my host," Victor was saying, "and this is Hecate, his...umm..."

Helena stopped listening. Dracula was looking at her intensely. There was something a little like hunger in his expression, and his eyes pulled hers

like magnets. Finally she shivered and followed Ernest into the Entrance Hall.

It was vast, and the vast vaulted ceiling was painted in a red and black geometric design. The carpet was scarlet and the chandeliers were gold.

A cadaverous man in smart clothes approached, introduced himself as the butler, Jean, and took their bags from the groom, telling him he could leave now, then he beckoned Helena and Ernest up a long flight of stairs, to two adjoining rooms. He placed their luggage on the floor and then told them that dinner would be in half an hour and he would come to fetch them.

Helena was wondering what to wear for dinner when there was a knock on the door that connected her room to Ernest's. She smiled and went to open it, and saw Ernest standing there, crying.

"What is it my love?" she exclaimed.

"I thought we would be happy here," he said, "but Victor has just come. He says the Count is a vampire, and his mistress a witch. We cannot be happy in this den of supernatural corruption."

Helena felt desperate. The news shocked her too, but she had to hide this from Ernest.

"Why should we not be happy here?" she asked, "they have done us no evil, and may yet prove to be good people."

"Because they are not fully human!"

"So?" Helena asked, almost defiantly, "neither is your cousin, but when he is lucid he is a good man."

Then she had to choke back tears, because thinking of Percival made her think of her dead father.

"My father is dead by paranormal means!" she snapped, "and I am willing to stay here, and so should you be!"

The door closed abruptly. Helena could hear Ernest loudly opening his trunk. He was angry.

That was when the first cracks appeared.


	14. Chapter 14

Warrior

Robert and Adam were reading **Notes On The Destruction of Vampires **when there was a knock on the door. Adam rushed to hide in the wardrobe, and the landlord entered.

"Someone here to see you, Meneer van Helsing."

He left, and a few moments later Abraham entered. Robert laughed and ran forward, embracing his father. He had missed him a lot.

However, he stopped smiling when he saw the mournful expression on Adam's face as he peered out of the wardrobe.

"Come out of there, Adam, and meet my father," he said with a laugh.

"Father, this is my ally, Adam, and Adam, this is my father, Abraham van Helsing."

They shook hands, and then Robert decided to get back to business.

"So, Father, do you have a way to raise an army?" he asked eagerly. To his excitement, Abraham nodded.

"Indeed I do. It is a well known fact that Homo Lupis, known by some as werewolves, wolvers, wolfmen or biters, are immune to the bite of a vampire, whether that is a bite of possession or a bite of destruction."

Robert nodded. He had read about those in his father's book. A bite of possession turned you into a vampire, but a bite of destruction was longer, and deadlier, as it sucked every drop of blood out of you and left you dry and dead.

"It is also well known," Abraham continued, "that when in very close proximity to or touched by pure silver, wolvers will die or go mad or be reverted to their fully human state, never to become a wolf again. However, when touched by impure silver, wolfmen are susceptible to mind control. Tonight is the last night of the full moon, and all the biters in Transylvania and Romania will be out. We merely need to find them, follow them and get one of these around their necks, and then they are ours." With these words, he took a saddlebag from around his shoulders, delved in and pulled out a grey metal crucifix.

"Will they not simply take them off?" Robert asked, trying to understand the complex magic.

"Nay, my son, for they will be under our control, and will not take the crosses off unless we tell them to."

Adam coughed and Robert turned towards him.

"Why do you use this symbol for your silver?" he asked, "I am aware that it is a religious symbol, but how does religion increase the usefulness of this amulet?"

"It does not," Robert explained, "It is simply the most common shape silver comes in at the jewellers."

"Speaking of which, I have a gift for you, Adam," Abraham said, and pulled, from among the many silver and lead crosses, a chain on which hung a crystal bottle with water in, a bulb of garlic and a pure silver cross. Adam took it reverentially, and Robert smiled to see the joy on his face when he put it on.

"We have just been discussing the use of silver, and I have read in your book, Meneer van Helsing - is that the right word? Robert said, in your language - it is? Good. Well, I read in your book that the weakness of vampires is garlic. But why do I have this little bottle?"

"That is holy water, friend," Robert answered, feeling excited that they would soon have an army.

"I repeat my question from before," Adam replied, "how does religion aid you in this purpose?"

"That water is imbued with hopes, faith, confessions, community, prayers," Abraham answered, "inherently good things that drive off the inherent evil in witches. It is not, as many people think, because witches have a covenant with the devil and only God and things blessed by God can harm them. Religion, though a useful thing, rarely manifests itself in this life. Whether you believe in God is irrelevant in my view, because whether there is one or not, we will not know for sure until we cannot tell people."

"What my father is trying to say," Robert explained, "is that it is the positive feeling derived from a person's beliefs that matter, not what they actually believe. We naturally respect all religions."

What Robert did not mention was how rare a phenomenon as the van Helsing religious tolerance was. Adam was young in the ways of the world and there was no need for him to realise how prejudiced it was just yet.


	15. Chapter 15

Witch

Hecate had been in many tense situations. The time when she had to aid her protégée Medea as she escaped her cruel father with the handsome hero Jason had been pretty tough. She had been fighting to keep it dark enough for their presence to go unseen, but with Jason carrying a _glowing_ sheepskin, it had been very difficult. Afterwards Hecate had felt drained for days. Then the time when she was teaching three sisters to be witches and they wanted to trick a rich thane into his demise. She had tried to reason with them, but they refused to listen.

But the moment Count Vladimir Dracula told her that he wanted to discontinue their relationship was the first time her world genuinely felt as if it had been turned upside down.

She could barely understand it. She had been bored, and so she had come up from her cavern and wandered aimlessly through the corridors of Castel Dracula until she had felt the longing within her to see him.

So she had visited his chamber, the dining room, her cavern, all his favourite haunts. She hadn't seen him anywhere, and was just about to give up when she ran into Victor.

She didn't like Victor. He had an air about him of a man meddling where he should not be, and he seemed to have taken against her at once, for he scowled as soon as he saw her coming around the corner, and avoided looking at her eyes, which upset her.

Hecate was very sensitive about her eyes. They were part of the whole "witch" package, and there was nothing she could do about them, but sometimes she felt like they made her less beautiful.

"Have you seen Vladimir anywhere?" she asked, endeavouring to be civil towards the Baron, even though she would have preferred to tell him to clear off.

"He took Mademoiselle Brunel out in the boat a few hours ago," he replied sullenly, "he should be back now, try the study."

Hecate felt a strange cold lurch in her stomach when Victor said those words. The boat in question was a sweet little white boat, decked out with pale pink cushions.

When Vladimir had first invited her to live here with him, they had gone out on his lake in the boat together at night, and under the stars had performed such acts as may be expected of people in love.

In that boat she had seen Vladimir for who he truly was: a good man forced into the role of a wicked one.

In that boat he had let his guard down, laughing, kissing her and rowing so gracefully that the water barely rippled. In that boat she had fallen in love with him.

But surely Victor was wrong? In fact, he had most probably just said that to make her jealous. But despite herself her feet began to head towards the study, first at a walk and then at a run. As she mounted the steps to the top of the tower, her racing heartbeat and her footfalls began to beat out a rhythm. One thought danced around her mind in tune with the beat her body was making.

_It cannot be true. It cannot be true. It cannot be true._

When she reached the study, panting for breath, she saw her lover crouched over a book.

"Vladimir," she breathed, "tell me he lied."

Dracula looked up at her, confused.

"Pray explain, Hecate," he replied calmly.

"Frankenstein," she answered bitterly, "he told me you took Mademoiselle Brunel out in the boat - in _our_ boat, my love."

He gave a sad smile.

"Yes, I did. However nothing improper occurred. She is far to chaste a maid to -"

"-Cut out singing her praises, Vladimir, and explain yourself! I...I _love_ you. Why would you do this to me?"

"Hecate," he began, "it is not easy for me to say this. But I must try. I do not love you anymore. I love Helena with all my heart, and she loves me. She has promised to marry me. Do you not see I can no longer carry on with you in this way?"

There was silence for a few moments, and then Hecate turned away from him. She could not stand to see him any longer than she had to.

She was walking dejectedly back to her cave when she heard a choked sob, and saw Ernest Frankenstein running down a flight of stairs with his handkerchief pressed to his face. She met his eyes with a sympathetic look, and he held her gaze for an instant, then looked away.

Poor man. He too had had his life ruined by the brat. She was too young for Dracula anyway, and too scheming for Lord Frankenstein, who seemed not to wish malice on any living creature.

Back in her home, she curled up on the shelf of rock where she had not slept for so long. It was hard, rough and uncomfortable, and she longed for the bed she had shared with Dracula for so long. She had spent only her days here, and her nights had been above, in the gilded bedchamber where he had tasted of her purple blood and pronounced it too sacred for his taking.

Now that she looked back on it, the relationship had been slowly deteriorating for some time.

At the beginning she had been constantly in the building above with the Count, but as time went on she spent more and more time here, alone. And ever since Victor arrived he had barely come to see her at all.

That was when Hecate realised she hated Vladimir.


	16. Chapter 16

Werewolf

Percival was vaguely aware that he was moving, but he did not know or care where or why. He had been walking for hours - or was it days? He was surrounded by thousands of others, and there was a haze in his mind making it impossible for him to think straight.

There was a crushing weight around his neck and all he knew was that he must march on. He did not know why he must march, he simply knew it was important that he did.

His feet ached and his hands were clammy, and he had a vague idea in his mind that last night had been a full moon.

But why was a full moon so significant? Try as he might, he could not recall why a full moon mattered. In fact, come to think of it he was having trouble thinking what his own name was.

Was it Peter? Patrick? No, Percival. He endeavoured to keep it at the front of his mind, but it slipped away again like water through fingers.

He no longer remembered who he was.

He felt he ought to be just a little panicked, but he was not. He was just too tired to panic. He honestly just wanted to fall to the ground and never get back up again, but that voice in his head did not desist. It was clear and insistent, driving him on, on, always on.

It was all that was left of him now - that thought. The endless urging to keep marching, that echoed in the minds of all the men and women marching with him.

That thought - and the knowledge that at the end of the journey was a battle. Everything that had been Percival Beaufort had faded away like clouds do when the sun parts them.

All that remained was a plodding, weary soldier, marching with his army towards their fate.


	17. Chapter 17

Vampire

It was early afternoon when Vladimir spotted them, marching towards his fortress. The army was huge, but that did not surprise him. What surprised him was how exhausted they looked, with downturned eyes and a plodding gait. He summoned Victor, Helena, Ernest and Hecate to his study and they had a conference of war.

"I will summon my vampire army," he informed them.

Victor agreed to fight with him, and he asked Helena to stay behind for her own safety.

She smiled at him and agreed, reaching out her hand and taking his. He knew how hard it had been for her, realising she loved him and not Ernest, and not knowing how to tell her dear friend the crushing news. He loved her with all his heart, and seeing her in pain was more than he could endure.

Ernest timidly agreed to join the battle, and Hecate seemed to assume that she was coming too.

"You will obviously require my powers," she explained, but Vladimir urged her to stay behind and have medical assistance ready to anyone who might need it.

She protested, but finally agreed.

She was still holding a grudge, he could tell. He only hoped she got over it. Once the council of war was complete, he went to the highest balcony of the Castel and knelt, closing his eyes and throwing out his arms. With his mind, he called every vampire under his control to assemble outside, facing the other army. Then he observed his enemies for a time, and saw, at the head of the army, Abraham and Robert van Helsing.

He was about to turn away, when the light of the setting sun illuminated a dull gleam about the neck of every soldier.

"By the devil," he gasped, "they are all wolvers."


	18. Chapter 18

Witch

The vampire army arrived at midnight, and faced the army of wolfmen, but as yet no challenge had been made. Hecate was watching the others prepare for the battle. She only slightly regretted not going. She disliked war. She wandered around, watching as they put on chainmail or leather combat clothes. There was Victor, kneeling to pray to his God, and Ernest, who she had always thought a well-mannered gentleman, walking up and down, swearing.

"What am I doing? What the bloody hell am I doing?"

Vladimir was calmly pulling on chainmail, the only one of them to choose that particular way of protecting himself.

Hecate had slowly burned out all her anger towards Helena, but she still hated Vladimir. Not with the passionate hate she had felt at first, but with a steady loathing that would not leave her. She did not linger long to watch him.

Sometime in the small hours of the morning, the three men departed. Hecate watched as the battle began. It looked like it was to last a long time. Eventually she looked away with distaste, and saw a shadowy figure in chainmail creeping towards the front door. A small lock of blonde hair had escaped from the hood. It was Helena.

Hecate was not quite sure why Helena wanted to fight in the battle. Maybe she wanted glory, to be close to Vladimir, or to die.

"Helena," she called. The figure stopped, then turned. She looked desperate.

"Hecate," she began hurriedly without giving the witch time to speak, " you have to let me go. You may be able to stand idle while a battle is being fought that could determine your future, but I cannot. I _must_ go down fighting. Please. Surely you understand?"

Hecate could just about understand. Wanting control over your fate was pretty normal.

"I'm not going to stop you, Helena," she replied, "but you should know it is nothing like how you have been told, or may have imagined it. It is not glorious, nor beautiful, nor even honourable. It is messy. There are blood, corpses, mud, broken swords and pikes to lame you if you tread on them. War is ugly, and you should know that before you enter it."

Helena looked sad for a moment.

"I know," she whispered, "war is an awful thing. But when it calls, I must answer."

"Very well then. Good luck, soldier."

Helena smiled at the term, and made as if to turn away, but then caught herself as if she had remembered something.

"Oh, and Hecate? Thank you for forgiving me. I never meant to take him away from you."

Hecate shook her head.

"I know you did not mean to, and in my opinion you never did. He left me. Who he left me for is not my concern."

Helena gave her a knowing look and nodded almost _dutifully_.

"Of course," she said, and hurried away to the battle.

Hecate sat and smiled to herself. Helena was really not that bad after all. She was just trying to go through life doing what felt right.

Hecate hoped that one day she could learn to live like that.


	19. Chapter 19

Warrior

When the armies met, Robert felt like he was trapped in a crowd. A very deadly crowd. He urged the werewolves forward, raising his hand above his head. He held a thin, sharp blade. The army charged further, frenzied now and no longer tired. Robert lost his father in the fray, only catching sight of him occasionally, always fighting valiantly. He stabbed many vampires through the heart, and they died. He had smeared his sword with garlic paste before the battle, to be doubly sure, and so it slipped smoothly in and out of corpses. Most of the faces in the vampire army he recognised. They were his enslaved friends from the Resistance.

Robert tripped, and an arm caught him. He looked up in relief, and saw a maiden's face, framed by blonde hair. He stared in confusion as she lifted her sword, red with blood, and brought it down upon his shoulder, then ran away.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He crumpled to his knees, and an elbow struck the back of his head. A foot kicked his legs from under him. The battle raged around him and the soldiers fought on, oblivious to him. He lay there, unmoving from sheer pain. He was sure it was the most pain anyone had ever felt in the history of the world. It was impossible for him to be in any more pain than he was already in.

Then a boot came down upon his bleeding shoulder and he realised It was possible. The pain was too great now and he felt darkness gathering at the edge of his vision. Just before he blacked out, he heard a familiar voice shouting out a battle cry. The Count was just above him. He rolled over, fingers still gripping the hilt of his blade, and stabbed his sword between two hoops in Dracula's chainmail. He felt the point enter flesh and let go of the hilt, falling back in a daze of pain beyond description. The darkness took him and the pain slipped away.


	20. Chapter 20

Baron

From across the battlefield, Victor saw the sword enter his friend's body. Sound receded from him as he remembered Henry's swollen face after his death. He let out an anguished cry that resonated over the battlefield and put sorrow into the hearts of all that heard it.

"Vladimir!"

It seemed never to end. His feet took him towards what he did not want to see, and he found himself by Dracula's side very soon. He knelt down, opposite another soldier who had his head in their lap. The fighter looked up and he saw that it was Helena.

"Helena! How did you- never mind. We need to bury our friend."

Helena looked at him as one might look at an idiot, and from his position on the ground Vladimir replied acidly that he had no intention of being buried.

Victor had never been so happy to hear his friend's voice, and he took his hand and held it tightly for a few moments, before asking him what he needed.

"Get me away from the battle." Vladimir's voice was weaker now. Victor and Helena carried him around to the side of Castel Dracula, where there was a locked side door for which he had a key. They laid him on his bed and Helena kissed his brow.

"Is there anything you need, my love?" she asked.

"Your blood," he gasped out, "half a bowl of your blood, and the same amount of Victor's. And I need you to take the sword out."

Helena cringed at this, but took hold of the hilt and pulled out the blade, wincing. No blood poured from the wound, for Vladimir had not drunk for some time.

"Helena," said Victor, "stay with him. I will return to the battle."

He left, and as he locked the side door behind him he realised that the sound of battle was gone. He turned to see Abraham van Helsing offer up his sword to Ernest. Ernest took it, and then he turned to Victor and smiled.

Victor smiled back, but then his look of joy changed to one of horror as he saw Adam picking his way across the field towards van Helsing. He was armed with a similar sword to Abraham, and when he reached the old man he put a hand on us shoulder, for he was far taller than him.

Ernest stared at him in equal horror, and Victor raised the blade that had pierced Vladimir and ran towards the monster, determined to have vengeance for the death of his family. He looked down, as he ran, at the faces of the dead men. He stopped short when he recognised one of the faces. He stared at it, then flung his sword to one side and knelt beside the corpse, weeping. It was his cousin Percival.

Steps approaching. Ernest. An arm around his shoulders, a kindly voice. His little brother, who had lost everything, as he had, and more besides, knelt by him before their cousin's body, and the two of them wept as if their hearts would break.

More footsteps approached, and a rough voice spoke.

"I am sorry, Frankenstein."

They both looked up to see the hateful beast that Victor had created.

"Forgive me, my lords, for I have wronged you both greatly. I acted in anger, and in bitterness, and will go forth from this place and have no more to do with either of you."

"Begone, foul wretch!" snarled Ernest, making to rise and chase Adam away, but Victor wearily put a hand on his brother's shoulder, all the fight drained from him.

"Do not harm him, Ernest," he said, "for in a way he is like to a child of mine, for it is through me that he came into being. Go, Adam, and do with yourself what you will. You are forgiven."

Then he watched as his life's work, his desperate attempt at a masterpiece and a place in history, walked away to rejoin the elder of the van Helsings, as they scoured the field searching for the younger.


	21. Chapter 21

Monster

Adam ran across the field, tears streaming down his face. Frankenstein had forgiven him, but the battle was lost and there were so many dead on both sides. Vampires with blades through their hearts or holes in their chest, and Homo Lupis with blood on their faces.

But none of the faces were his blood-brother's face. Where was Robert?

Then an anguished yell echoed over the bloodstained plain, and Adam turned to see Abraham knelt over a young man's body. Adam broke into a run, and when he got there he saw that Robert was alive, and relief flooded through him until he heard what the young man was saying to his father.

"I can feel my mother calling me to her side. Bear my body back and bury me with her, I beg you. Take in Adam and shelter him. He is my blood-brother and my dear friend. And read this."

He passed his father a letter, and then turned to Adam. Adam knelt and took Robert's hand. He was too weak now for any more words, so he simply held tightly on to Adam as the light faded from his eyes.

The grief on Abraham's face was pitiful. He seemed to be unable to comprehend that he had to read the letter, so Adam took it gently from the numb fingers. He could not understand the words, so he carried it over to where Ernest and Victor stood vigil over their fallen cousin.

"What do you want now?" asked Ernest through his tears.

"I apologise," Adam replied, "but I cannot read. Would you tell me what this says?"

Ernest took the letter and read it out.

"To Mr Abraham van Helsing and Mr Robert van Helsing.

The High Council of Warlocks commands that you end your feud and swear the oath of peace to which our families are bound. This next battle with Dracula must be the last you fight, whether you win or lose. Signed Louis de Courcy, Erik Hirsch, Leon Banshikov and Francesco Allocco."

Adam took it back to Abraham, who still knelt, weeping, by his son.

"Sir," Adam began, trying to soften his naturally rough tones, "they say you cannot fight any longer."

He pressed the letter into Abraham's hands, and the man painstakingly read it.

"I will retire back to Tilburg, and bury my son. Adam, come with me. You were his blood brother. You will be my son now. I will teach you to read and write French, and I will teach you the speaking and the reading and writing of Dutch."

Adam stared at him for a moment, barely taking it in. Then he looked past him, and for a moment he could see everything. And right at the boundary of his vision was a cemetery, and in it a headstone. It was very faint, as it all was, but he could just make out the name Lavinia on the epitaph.

"Father," he said, the word feeling strange on his tongue, "I can see far away from here. What direction is your home?"

"It is behind me."

"I believe I see a grave," Adam began, then guessed, "I think it is your wife's. Was her name Lavinia?"

Abraham nodded.

"It is as I suspected. Some of Robert's blood flows in your veins, and so upon his death his powers were transferred to you. It is a weak and small gift, but what little Farsight you have I will teach you to master."

They embalmed Robert on the field, with help from Victor Frankenstein. Then they rode back towards Tilburg with his body, planning to bury him with his mother in Amsterdam.


	22. Chapter 22

Witch

Hecate was sulking. She knew she ought to be happy. The battle was won, but she felt lost. She had seen Ernest and Victor return, but there was no sign of Helena or Vladimir. She hoped Vladimir had been killed, or taken captive, but she was a little worried about Helena.

Only a little bit though.

She was looking out of the window at the carnage below her when a voice spoke.

"Hecate," Baron Frankenstein began, "Vladimir is badly hurt. He needs your help."

Hecate laughed cruelly.

"What makes you think I will help him? He has ruined everything, and now expects me to save him when he gets himself into trouble!"

"He brought you here, he cared for you, he helped you."

"He doesn't remotely care about me, and I don't care about him either. Why should I help him?"

"He still loves you, Hecate."

She stared at him in confusion.

"No he does not," she replied, "if he still loved me, he would not be gallivanting about with Mademoiselle Brunel!"

"How can one so old and so powerful be so narrow-minded as to think love is always between lovers? What about family, Hecate? _Friends?_ Vladimir sees you as one of his best friends. I know, because he behaves to you the way he does to me, and I am also one of the dearest friends he has."

Hecate looked at him in confusion.

"Please," Victor begged, rubbing at a bandage around his elbow, "I know we have not always got along. But just this one time, put up with me. Save our friend. Prove he still matters to you."

"But he does not, not anymore."

"Then _make_ him matter."

Hecate was sorely tempted to stay where she sat. But then she thought of Vladimir, lying weak and ill on a bed, and she thought of how much she had once loved him, and of how she had been left behind in order to provide medical aid if it was needed. And she realised he was still her friend.

"Oh, bother!" she muttered, and got up and followed Victor back to the room where Vladimir was.

Helena stood beside the bed, holding two bowls half full of blood. Her elbow was likewise bandaged.

"This one is mine," she said, holding out a bowl, "and this one is Victor's."

Hecate set to work. She made the mail links around the wound fold back on themselves, so she could see the size of the wound. Then she took Helena's blood and poured it into the wound.

"By the love of your soulmate be healed," she intoned, then she cast a spell to prevent infection, and poured Victor's blood into the wound.

"By the blood of your friend be healed."

Then she pulled out a long strand of her hair and threaded it onto a needle from her healing tools that she had kept with her during the battle. She sowed up the wound with it, and spoke for the last time.

"By the care of your healer be healed."

And then the spell was complete and the wound vanished.

Hecate left the room and went to sit alone in the music room. No-one ever played the instruments in there, but the view from the window was of the opposite side of the building to where the battle had taken place, and so was untainted by the horror of war.

She sat there for several minutes until she heard the door creak open. She looked up and saw Ernest Frankenstein.

"Oh, I am sorry, I did not mean to intrude," he told her. She shrugged.

"You are not intruding, you may wander where you will in Castel Dracula. You are a guest."

He nodded and came to sit beside her. Hecate stiffened and tried to politely edge away from him.

"That was a very brave deed, overcoming your anger towards the Count in order to heal him."

Hecate was not sure quite what to say.

"I suppose...that is I believe, that it is easier, perhaps, to forgive...as I forgive those who dislike my eyes. Yes, I know it should not matter, but I do not like my eyes. I..."

Hecate trailed off, conscious that he was looking at her very hard, with an expression she could not understand. Heat rose into her cheeks as she wondered if perhaps she had said too much to someone who really did not care.

She waited for his inevitable reply: "I did not need to hear all of that," or "Of course people do not like your eyes, they are ugly," or "we all suffer misfortunes. You must simply learn to live with it."

When it came, his answer was the last thing she had expected.

"Hecate," he said quietly, "I love your eyes. I think they are quite possibly the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. And I love the rest of you as well. I love your willingness to forgive, I love the curls in your hair, I love the way you trusted me just then even though you knew I could have been scornful. I love the way you are smiling right now. I love you."

Hecate was silent for a few moments. Then she moved up closer to him and did not resist when he put his arm around her.

She looked at him for a moment and everything was alright. She searched through herself and realised that she loved him. It was the most wonderful feeling she had ever felt.

Then she leaned forward and kissed him.


	23. Chapter 23

Orphan

When Ernest and Hecate entered the dining room holding hands, Helena smiled. She was glad to see them happy at last. She had identified the germs of love, in Hecate at least, quite a while back, and it was good to see them happy. They sat around the table in silence for a moment, until Jean entered with the food.

He walked around the table, and people served themselves from the plates he carried. But when he got to Helena, he placed the plate on the table beside her.

"Jean?" she asked, confused. Then, before she could struggle or run, he had grabbed her and was holding a small, curved knife to her neck.

"Move," he whispered, "and I will cut your throat."

She stood very still as Jean addressed the astonished diners.

"You! You, Count Dracula! You killed my sister! I have waited many years in your service, gaining your trust, and now I am going to kill your mistress! Let this be payment for my sister's life! Agnes, accept this offering!"

He brought the knife back, ready to kill Helena, and she ducked.

He chased her around the table, until she turned to face him, angry, and he fell to the floor in a cloud of purple smoke.

Hecate brought her hands back to her sides.

"He is only stunned," she told them.

Helena approached the prone Jean and saw that he was indeed only stunned.

"What do we do with him?" she asked.

"Turn him out," Victor said.

So that was what they did. They stuffed his pockets with food and put a pack on his back filled with more food. They wrapped him in warm clothes and placed him beside a warm fire and then returned to the Castel to eat dinner in stony silence.

Helena still felt the steel against her neck. She reached for Vladimir's hand under the table, but he was deep in his own thoughts and did not notice her. She withdrew her hand, upset, but not angry, for it was clear the incident had troubled him.

It had troubled her too, but what troubled her more was the fact that he had neither confirmed nor denied his responsibility for the death of his butler's sister.

What if he had killed her?


	24. Chapter 24

Vampire

That evening none of them slept. They sat up and did not speak for many hours, until Helena took Vladimir's arm and led him out into the corridor.

"Well?" she asked, "did you kill that woman?"

Vladimir felt his heart sink. He was not going to get away with this as easily as he had hoped.

"I've killed many people," he told her, "you know that I am a vampire. You know that sometimes I need to take blood."

"But do you feel sorry about it afterwards? Do you remember their names, their stories?" Helena's eyes were pleading.

"Yes," he lied.

But she knew him better than that.

"No you don't," she said, looking at him in disgust.

"Not all of them," he admitted, eyes downcast, "but I remember _her_. Her name was Agnes. She and her brother had just moved into the nearby town. They had spent all of their lives up to that point in Toulouse, in France, and we're unprepared for life here. I took them both into my service as Cook/Butler and Cook/Housekeeper and got on very well with both of them.

Agnes in particular helped me. She taught me French and used to make me laugh when I was sad. She would talk to Hecate too, she used to brush her hair for her and buy her new gowns in the shops in town.

One day, I had not drunk for many days and was planning to go into town and find someone to drink from.

But Agnes was such a sweet soul that she did not want anyone else to be hurt, so she asked me to drink from her."

"And you did?" Helena asked, incredulous. Vladimir felt awful as he nodded.

"After that, Jean kept his distance from me. We were no longer friends. I have always felt so guilty about Agnes. Why did I agree to let her die? She was my friend. That is why I will not let Victor leave. He is my dearest friend and I wish to keep him here. I fear he will come to harm at the hands of another, who is not such a good friend. I want to be the friend to him and Hecate that I never was to Agnes."

Helena was silent for a moment, so he continued hurriedly.

"After that day I swore a vow never to take the blood of someone I knew, even if they were my enemy. I am afraid of losing my friends. And...I am afraid of losing you, too."

He felt awful. He had told Helena his worst secret, and she had realised she had misjudged him. She would hate him now, and he would have lost his only chance at happiness.

"Then marry me," she said. He stared at her.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"Marry me and you need never fear losing me again."

Vladimir wondered for a moment if she was joking, but her face was perfectly serious.

He stroked her cheek gently and nodded.

"Very well."


	25. Chapter 25

Baron

They were walking in the grounds. It was a bright afternoon and a few flowers were pushing themselves out of the ground on the banks of the lake.

"This place is not nearly half as scary as I thought," Ernest was commenting to Helena, "and here, round the back of the Castel, there is almost no evidence of the battle at all!"

Victor was also vaguely aware of Vladimir thanking him for presiding over the wedding, but his friend's joy at being married to Helena was not what was at the forefront of his mind.

The previous evening, after Helena and Vladimir had left the room, he had followed them to the door. He had felt guilty about eavesdropping, but it had told him what he already suspected: that he was a prisoner here.

He needed to escape, to think things over. He would pack his trunk and leave in secret.

Tonight, he would begin the long, arduous journey back to Geneva, and freedom.

But now he thought about it, Geneva did not feel like home anymore. He imagined returning there, and felt no pang of longing, nor any feeling of hope now that he planned to go. Ernest would return to Geneva soon, and bring Hecate with him, for they planned to marry there and live in Château Frankenstein.

Victor wanted no more part in this affair. He was tired of vampires and witches and werewolves, tired of warlocks and madmen and armies, tired of grief and secrets and death.

He would leave his trunk behind, and go up the nearby hill to think and to be alone.

That very evening he stole away while the others slept. He left a note saying for the others to continue to Geneva without him. He told them he was taking a short holiday and would soon return.

It was a lie, but it would keep them quiet.

After he had been scrambling up the hill for several minutes, it began to rain. It rained thickly and heavily, fat, cold drops.

Victor's hair was dripping in his eyes and his clothes were plastered to his skin, but he refused to return. Even from here he could still see the last few corpses lying on the battlefield.

The only thing that place could offer him was death.

Shivering, Victor hauled himself up the hill until he found a small shelf of rock that provided some shelter beneath it from the wind and rain. Shivering, he huddled in its shadow to wait out the storm.

Several hours later, as dawn was streaking the sky to the east, he saw the carriage roll away from Castel Dracula, past the rapidly decomposing remains of the dead. Helena was leaning out of the window, a handkerchief pressed to her face. The rain fell around her and she looked the picture of misery.

She seemed to catch sight of Victor, but at that very moment the coachman whipped the horses to a gallop and the carriage disappeared around a bend in the road.

Victor waited in the rain for many hours, until exhaustion overtook him and he slipped into fevered dreams of burning lakes, walking corpses and withered trees.

When he opened his eyes, he was shivering with cold, but the rain was gone and the sun was shining on him brightly. By its position he guessed it was mid afternoon.

As he stood, leaning against the rock face in the sun, he slowly stopped shivering. He tried to think clearly about all that he felt for his friends, but he felt ill and confused, and an ache appeared between his eyes when he thought for too long.

He was considering starting on the long road home, when he heard a familiar voice.

"Victor," she called. He turned.

Descending from the summit, smiling at him with a tenderness that made him feel warm inside, was Elizabeth. Her hair was longer than in life, and she seemed to glow with a radiance that almost made it hard to look at her, but it was unmistakably her. Her eyes twinkled and as she approached him, he saw that she still wore her white nightgown that she had worn when Adam killed her.

"Hello, my love," she whispered. Victor stared at her, amazed and a little afraid. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, but she was still there.

"This cannot be real," he muttered, "you died! Adam killed you, I was there!"

"I have been sent back to help you," she replied, "for I sense that you are alone and afraid, and know not what to do."

"I do now!" cried Victor, pulling a sharp stone from the soil at his feet, "I will kill myself now and be united with you forever!"

But Elizabeth shook her head.

"Do not die, my love. For you have friends still, and there is life ahead of you, and hope. I believe that you can start again. You still have a family. Go home, Victor. Go home."

Victor gazed at her in silence. It had been a long time since he had felt so at peace, and he had no wish to return to his Château.

"Think upon this advice, my dearest one," Elizabeth told him, and then pointed towards the road.

"There lies your way," she urged him. He turned to look at the road, and when he looked back, Elizabeth had vanished.

He toyed with the sharp rock, throwing it from one hand to the other, then he lifted his arm and hurled it away.

After a few more minutes thinking, Victor set off down the hill and towards the road home.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Hey guys! The story is drawing to a close now, so if you have stuck with it this far, thank you very much, it will finish in three chapters, I promise. Let me know who your favourite characters are by reviewing or sending me a message, and sorry that I got a bit deep and depressing in this chapter. **

Monster

Adam stood beside the grave. He knew the epitaph by heart, yet he read through it again.

**Lavinia van Helsing**

**Beloved wife and mother**

**And her son, Robert van Helsing**

**A good and brave man.**

Adam came here every day, no matter the weather. He laid flowers sometimes, but usually he just came to talk to Robert.

Often he was alone, but today he had brought his father with him. Abraham was still stricken with grief, but he was slowly mending. Adam hoped that, with time, he would heal. Not completely, of course, you never fully healed. But enough to be able to carry on with his life.

That day, they were discussing why Robert left so suddenly.

"The letter must have arrived just as he was starting to get ready to go. I imagine he hid it from me and set off on one final quest," Abraham was saying.

"This is all my fault," Adam whispered, "if he had not met me, then he would not have been so eager to attack the Count. He might have survived without me."

"Indeed, you are the cause of most of these events, my son. Frankenstein chased you to Transylvania, where you met Robert and spurred him into action. Frankenstein's brother travelled to Transylvania to be near his last remaining relative, and so you caused him to be there too. But do not feel ashamed of causing these things, for many of them created new friendships. You led Robert to his fate. He was destined to die young, I always knew.

Without you he might have gained a few more years, but in the end you did what _you_ were destined to do. You are not the villain. You are the hero, for you brought our story through from the beginning to it's conclusion."

Adam looked at his father as he finished his wise speech, and nodded. He supposed he was probably right.

The grave looked sad and alone, as it was quite far from the nearest headstone. In its solitude, the monument to death seemed to show the very nature of life: that of being alone, always.

For although you could surround yourself with other living things, and spend every moment in company, you alone were trapped inside your body, with no companion save loneliness.

And despite the fact that Adam knew his father loved him, he felt desolate and, more importantly, useless.

He had caused only death and misery, and felt as if his very existence was pointless.

Lavinia and Robert lay deep beneath the earth now, rotting and returning to the dust from which they had been formed. For the first time in his short life, Adam considered the many people whose graves Victor had plundered in his search for body parts he could use to create him.

He wondered how many people had gained new life through him, and realised that he did have a purpose after all.

To live for the dead. For those who had died young, who had died fighting, who had died before saying goodbye. For those who had slipped easily away, and for those who had gone kicking and screaming.

Adam turned, and with his father, walked back towards the horses that would return them home to Tilburg.

There was no use in dwelling on things lost, for it would not bring them back. It was better simply to remember them with affection, and learn to carry on without them.


	27. Chapter 27

Mourner

When Ernest woke up, the other side of the bed was empty, leaving only a patch of warmth where Hecate had lain.

He considered getting up and going to find her, when she walked in. She was dressed in one of Elizabeth's old green dresses, which suited her well. Her hair, however, was still mussed from sleep and her eyes - her beautiful eyes - had lost their guarded look. She held a slip of paper in her hand and sat on the edge of the bed.

He sat up and smiled at her.

"You slept late," she commented, "Helena and Vladimir have already woken and are downstairs, eating."

"Why are you not eating with them?" he asked, puzzled.

"I was, but then this arrived," she explained, waving the paper, "I thought you would want to see it."

Ernest smiled. All was well: he was home, in his Château, with the woman he loved, and two dear friends.

But no, all was not well, Victor was away, and Ernest had no idea where he was, why he had left and whether he was coming back. They had brought his trunk back in the hope that he really was simply taking a holiday, but none of them believed him.

Who went on holiday at a moment's notice, and without any luggage, to boot?

"What is it?" he asked. Hecate replied with the words that he had hoped she both would and would not say.

"It is a letter from Victor."

Ernest felt fear and relief rush through him.

He braced himself for the worst, sure that Victor had written to inform them that he was not returning. Hecate handed him the letter, but he could not bear to read it, and held it on his lap without looking at the words written by his brother.

Finally he plucked up the courage to read the address that Victor had written at the top. He was shocked to see how different the hand was to Victor's ordinary style. _That_ was confident and bold, full of unnessescary loops and twirls. This was a trembling script, composed entirely of thin lines and with the last letter of each word trailing into a drooping line that went nowhere and served no useful purpose.

Horrified, he threw it away from him. It fluttered through the air and landed gently on his pillow.

"I cannot bear to read it," he whispered, "tell me what he says."

Hecate came to sit beside him, and put her arm around him.

"Never fear," she told him, "for he promises to arrive home in time for our wedding."


	28. Chapter 28

Explorer

To Mrs Saville, England.

Dear Margaret,

Yesterday I entered Austria-Hungary. It has been a long journey back from the Northern Ice, and it is not nearly done yet.

My carriage stopped twice today, once to change horses and another time that I and my coachman might eat at an inn. The scenery is unremarkable, although the road itself provides much amusement in the form of my fellow wanderers.

I have seen many men on horseback, and poor families with no home, sitting in donkey carts packed full of luggage and children. I have seen stagecoaches carrying passengers to all corners of the country, and some private carriages, like mine.

At the edge of the road, to my right, there is a small lane on which pedestrians may walk. It is not particularly interesting, and nor, for the most part, are those who walk upon it.

However only a few hours ago I caught sight of a traveller who fascinated me a great deal. It was a man, tall, with a noble bearing about him, quite out of place among the peasants with whom he shared the path. His attire, though creased and dirty, was rich enough for it to be reasoned that he had the money to afford faster transportation than his own legs. He was frowning, as though great misery had befallen him, and yet he walked with an easy gait, his arms swinging freely at his sides.

He seemed to me to be a man on his way home after a long journey, as I am, and yet I felt that his journey was spiritual, whereas mine was physical.

So interested was I in this strange figure that I ordered my coachman to slow to a walking pace, and I observed him for a time.

Eventually, he noticed that my carriage had been by him for some time, and he called up to me to ask what it was I wanted, but he spoke with refined manners that proved my assumption that he was of better breeding than those around him.

I asked him where he was headed, and he answered that his was making his way towards his home in Geneva. I answered that I could bear him in my carriage as far as the Swiss border, if he liked.

He gratefully took me up on my offer, although he cautioned me that he had no money with which to pay me. I have told him that all I require from him is his story, as it intrigues me how one of noble birth may be walking among the poor on his way home.

His name is Victor Frankenstein, and he has promised that I shall know all by the time we part.

Margaret, if you are as interested having heard this as I am, then I shall continue to write and tell you all that I hear from my new companion. Until then, be safe, dear sister, and pray for my speedy return.

Your affectionate brother,

R. Walton.


	29. Epilogue

**Ok, well, I guess that's finished then. If you are reading this, thank you for caring enough about this story to read all the way to the end, and then be willing to read me waffling on about how greateful I am that you read it. Thank you to mistymoonbeams for reviewing and thank you for reading my story. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.**


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